Retrospect
by G.U.3.S.S
Summary: When her world's crashing down, Tessa finds the reasons to keep her going.


**Retrospect**

_Because I realize I may have overstepped my boundaries with Will's (and consequently, Tessa's) personality, here's something a little more realistic. _

**R E T R O S P E C T**_  
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It was stupid, she knew. Letting herself believe things could be different, that things could change. William Herondale was, at his surface, a cruel boy driven by unimaginable grief and mystery. Such things she could only speculate; after all, he kept much to himself, and any information regarding his past was strictly need-to-know. Not that she was necessarily privy to such knowledge—in fact, after his latest performance she was confident she never knew him at all. Perhaps everything he said, the time spent together in the library, the teasing—the kiss—was a lie. And the only thing he wanted—that anyone would _ever _want from her—was the simple bodily pleasure she could provide.

_There is no future for a Shadowhunter who dallies with warlocks._

She would be lying to say his words had no effect; it stung. Echoing in the back of her mind, a testament to her existence. It made everything seem so final. What sort of a future would she have, doomed to walk the ages of the Earth, alone, with neither purpose nor sense of belonging? To anything. Any friends she might've made would grow old, withering away to bones and ash. Leaving her to piece together her life, only to repeat the process until she, herself, passed away into nothingness. Forgotten.

_One might befriend them, employ them, but never marry them._

Marriage. She hadn't really thought that far ahead. I suppose every young woman dreams of Prince Charming; a beautiful home, a child or two. Her seventeenth birthday was months away. And yet... she couldn't bring herself to care for such trivial matters. Her family was reduced to gravestones; her brother deserted and betrayed her. Her childhood a sham. All that remained was the feeble companionship of the Institute. Tentative at best, for she suspected their generosity—Charlotte was wrong, she didn't _belong_—could only stretch so far. The Clave questioned her allegiance; her worth.

The poor little Downworlder, sheltered by the gracious Nephilim. An unlikely power the sole redeeming quality, to be used at the whims of her _superiors_, until even that no longer spared her their resentment.

Rage boiled in her veins. How dare they treat her as though she were beneath them. So consumed with anger, she clenched her fist, knuckles white, and slammed her hand into the stone wall. Shock reverberated through her fingers; the pain throbbing in time with her heart. Tears pricked behind her eyes, but she refused to cry. Not here; not now. She had to be strong.

Maybe it'd be best if she just left; surely nothing to be missed. But as entertaining the thought, could she do it. Leave, _just like that_. Where would she go? Back to America—New York? Or should she travel? Unbidden memories of Jem and their conversations—talk of seeing the world, Jem's home in Shanghai—the day Will broke her heart, and the resulting reassurances that yes, she did have a home, a family. No matter how despairing it may seem.

_It is not such a bad thing to be set apart._

She could learn: about herself, her powers. Live her life as freely as she chose. She needn't be caged behind social customs and restrictions—she was a Downworlder, they no longer _applied_. Smiling, the first of the evening, she brushed the sleeves of her dress, vacating the small utility closet and made her way back to her room.

Once securely inside, she knelt beside her wardrobe and withdrew a satin box—a gift from Camille—unclasping the top, she removed the books and other knick-knacks, and pulled the string revealing the false-bottom. There. A letter addressed to one Theresa Gray on fine parchment:

_"Miss Gray_,

_I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize that I could not be there to discuss with you personally, but for all your help and success, I have sent to you a proposal of sorts. You have done me a fine service and as promised, I wish to make due on our agreement..."_

**R E T R O S P E C T**_  
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Please let me know what you think; feedback is greatly appreciated!

And yes, I do intend to continue with this particular story, although it will be branched out through various drabbles and the like.


End file.
